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MagyarChapter: "At the Egyptian Hall of the Hermitage"
AT THE EGYPTIAN HALL OF THE HERMITAGE
I always enter this hall, trying to go more quietly. It seems to me, that everything here has been shipped into the deepest dream in which Fine is merged with secret, esoteric Knowledge and my presence here can not always be desirable…
I know well, that the dry Egypt's climate protects wood and fabric from rotting and disintegration, but when I see traces of a chisel and a list on a magnificent wooden sarcophagus of the Egyptian, it seems to me that the masters had left a week ago. Occasionally I break the Hermitages rules and touch cold basalt with my hand.
There is a graceful ligature of hieroglyphs, the image of military, household and magic actions. Sarcophaguses are huge and, probably, very heavy, but the form had been chosen successfully and they look like light boats, carrying one away into eternity in an unknown Anubiss empine.
There are a lot of interesting things in show-windows. There are figures-ushebtu, fragments of fabrics, the fragile papyrus, not known to have lived up to now, Basalt, alabaster, sandstone, a Tree…
Materials are various, but the engineering of their processing is equally perfect and impresses with the spirituallity. The maid servant goddess of love Bastet -the small kitty- looks at me with a well familiar expression on a moustache muzzle. I have a special sympathy to these tender and independent persons. It seems that sacred stone scarabs are only waiting for a mark to engage into their habitual business of driving small balls.
I am standing for a long time at the Amenemahets sculpture. He has a clever, strong -willed face. He's looking at me from the depth of milenia, the powerful master of the great country. Sometimes it seems to me there's a light smile on his stone lips.
And here's an absolutely close thing to me: a palette of the Egyptian artist. To tell the truth, it looks a little different than a modern one. I usually draw at leisure and it would be interesting to discuss his sights on art with the owner of the palette. What would he tell me about "The Black Square" by Malevich or about "Danaya" by Rembrandt.
High art, complex religion and an imperceptible presence of something that we can't express with the words and bats (union of the information-scient), but, leaving, you carry away the sensation, that today you have received much more, than in the previous meeting.
This strange influence of the past on the present disturbs me. As a physicist, I don't find the explanation to it. The Chinese lyrical poet of the VIII century Boo created almost thirteen centuries ago. And today his verses sound in remarkable songs of the famous actress Anna Smirnova:
I begin to sing
And the Moon shakes in a step.
I dance and my shadow dances
It is silent and long.
And again along my life
I have to walk alone
Up to the meeting of that
That is among the stars
At the Milky Way...
"Among Flowers"
The stereo equipment allows to hear all the modulations of the voice and the flute. I'm listening to them and clearly understand: besides a trivial relationship of cause and effect of events, an unknown channel opens to me...
Life experience and intuition prompt me: there is a certain predefiniteness in our destinies. Probably, only hundreds years later some laws will be formulated according to which everything alive is developing. I don't know whether new words as "biofield", "space energy", etc, will be used in the formulation of these laws. But I am sure that every new person enters our life not casually and his words, inverted to us, are executed by deep sense. Not without reason ancient wise men believed that everyone whom we meet is our teacher.
Everything that occurs to us is filled with the same deep sense. Only it's necessary to understand the sense, to catch it. And while we have no exact knowledge of an event (and it is not known, whether we shall sometime), we may be guided only with our intuition, our heart's voice.
Many people feel the unusual connection with the past intuitively. Someone is fond of the history of Ancient India, someone is extremely eager to read books about Easter Island. Almost all my friends are interested in a Slavic history and read over and over books by Karamzin, Klyuchevsky and Solovyov. And everyone has any timepiece of history, a geographical place on a map or a historical event, which is the closest to him. I have such a place also. It is Egypt.
I know well, that the dry Egypt's climate protects wood and fabric from rotting and disintegration, but when I see traces of a chisel and a list on a magnificent wooden sarcophagus of the Egyptian, it seems to me that the masters had left a week ago. Occasionally I break the Hermitages rules and touch cold basalt with my hand.
There is a graceful ligature of hieroglyphs, the image of military, household and magic actions. Sarcophaguses are huge and, probably, very heavy, but the form had been chosen successfully and they look like light boats, carrying one away into eternity in an unknown Anubiss empine.
There are a lot of interesting things in show-windows. There are figures-ushebtu, fragments of fabrics, the fragile papyrus, not known to have lived up to now, Basalt, alabaster, sandstone, a Tree…
Materials are various, but the engineering of their processing is equally perfect and impresses with the spirituallity. The maid servant goddess of love Bastet -the small kitty- looks at me with a well familiar expression on a moustache muzzle. I have a special sympathy to these tender and independent persons. It seems that sacred stone scarabs are only waiting for a mark to engage into their habitual business of driving small balls.
I am standing for a long time at the Amenemahets sculpture. He has a clever, strong -willed face. He's looking at me from the depth of milenia, the powerful master of the great country. Sometimes it seems to me there's a light smile on his stone lips.
And here's an absolutely close thing to me: a palette of the Egyptian artist. To tell the truth, it looks a little different than a modern one. I usually draw at leisure and it would be interesting to discuss his sights on art with the owner of the palette. What would he tell me about "The Black Square" by Malevich or about "Danaya" by Rembrandt.
High art, complex religion and an imperceptible presence of something that we can't express with the words and bats (union of the information-scient), but, leaving, you carry away the sensation, that today you have received much more, than in the previous meeting.
This strange influence of the past on the present disturbs me. As a physicist, I don't find the explanation to it. The Chinese lyrical poet of the VIII century Boo created almost thirteen centuries ago. And today his verses sound in remarkable songs of the famous actress Anna Smirnova:
I begin to sing
And the Moon shakes in a step.
I dance and my shadow dances
It is silent and long.
And again along my life
I have to walk alone
Up to the meeting of that
That is among the stars
At the Milky Way...
"Among Flowers"
The stereo equipment allows to hear all the modulations of the voice and the flute. I'm listening to them and clearly understand: besides a trivial relationship of cause and effect of events, an unknown channel opens to me...
Life experience and intuition prompt me: there is a certain predefiniteness in our destinies. Probably, only hundreds years later some laws will be formulated according to which everything alive is developing. I don't know whether new words as "biofield", "space energy", etc, will be used in the formulation of these laws. But I am sure that every new person enters our life not casually and his words, inverted to us, are executed by deep sense. Not without reason ancient wise men believed that everyone whom we meet is our teacher.
Everything that occurs to us is filled with the same deep sense. Only it's necessary to understand the sense, to catch it. And while we have no exact knowledge of an event (and it is not known, whether we shall sometime), we may be guided only with our intuition, our heart's voice.
Many people feel the unusual connection with the past intuitively. Someone is fond of the history of Ancient India, someone is extremely eager to read books about Easter Island. Almost all my friends are interested in a Slavic history and read over and over books by Karamzin, Klyuchevsky and Solovyov. And everyone has any timepiece of history, a geographical place on a map or a historical event, which is the closest to him. I have such a place also. It is Egypt.
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